* * Miles of pain on the AT

Let me set the scene for you. I was half-way up a 4000 foot mountain just northwest of Lake Watauga on the Appalachian Trail and I was slumped over my trekking poles, gasping for air. The forest was redolent with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers and there was nary a waft to ruffle the leaves of the trees. The air was stiflingly hot and wickedly humid. I was miserable in more ways than I could count; my feet were screaming, my shoulders and lower back were crying, and my hips felt like the sockets had collapsed. Would I ever reach the top?

I enjoy the out of doors and take frequent day hikes on our area trails. Once a year or so, I schedule a more extensive backpacking trip, often with my old friend “Retro” (his trail name) and often on the Appalachian Trail. We’ve been doing this off and on for decades.

I have come to expect some discomfort; it goes with the territory. Carrying 35 pounds or so of equipment over mountains is inherently strenuous and no training can replicate the activity other than the activity itself. Plus, it involves sleeping on the ground (or on a wooden-floor hut). And then there are the inevitable insect bites, which come fast and furious regardless of the precautions.

But this was a level of magnitude greater than usual. I was in abject agony! Is a whiff of cooling breeze too much to ask?

Retro won the genetic lottery, as hiking goes. While I’m short and wide, he’s tall, lithe, and lean and although a few years older than me, he hikes with ease. It is maddening.

I’ve never done well in the heat. Physical exertion on hot, muggy days destroys me. As I’ve gotten older, it’s gotten worse. But new aging problems were making themselves known.

In the last couple of years, my feet have essentially collapsed. I have almost no arch any more. My first metatarsal on both feet has migrated outward from my feet and bunions have formed. As they say, “the knee bone is connected to the thigh bone,” and thus the misalignment so caused has put more stress up my legs to my knees and hips.

I had been having trouble with my old boots for some time. With the re-shaping of my feet, I had outgrown them. So I bought a new pair. On the day-hike to break them in, I developed a blister. I exchanged the boots but the blister remained.

Beyond that, almost thirty years ago, I had micro-disk surgery on my lower back. Again, under normal circumstances I’m essentially pain-free. But the stress of the weight on my back was agonizing.

Retro wasn’t climbing much faster than I was, but he didn’t have to stop every 50 yards to take a break. So onward he went (mostly I think to avoid hearing my complaints). Finally, after what seemed like an interminable and excruciatingly painful march, I reached the top. The trail got easier but my pain barely subsided.

When the trail went downhill, my blister screamed out. When I went uphill, everything screamed out.

We were on the ridgeline, so there were no sources of water. Finally, the trail dropped into a little ravine that had a small trickle of a spring. We re-filled our water containers and began hiking uphill again. Back at the crest of the mountain, I found a nice camp spot where we stayed the first night, accompanied by one of the many thru-hikers, headed to Maine.

The next day was marginally cooler, so I felt better. But still, every step was painful. We camped the second night at one of the AT three-sided shelters, avoiding a brisk thunderstorm that lasted from 4:30 p.m. until dark. All the while, hikers arrived. Several stayed and others pressed on. None bothered with a raincoat; they simply got soaking wet. Their tolerance for pain was amazing.

Overnight, I made a couple of trips into the woods to pee, and I could barely walk, my hip hurt so badly.

At that point, we had done about 15 miles of a planned 40 mile trip, but when we came to the first crossing of a paved road four miles later, I convinced Retro that we should bail. We hitchhiked back to his car and went home.

Now I’m wondering if my backpacking days are over. Foot surgery is notoriously complex. I’m told that a hip replacement patient is on is feet in two days, but bunion surgery keeps you off your feet for weeks… and I need both feet done. And results are not guaranteed.

As I type this essay, I’m constantly scratching my insect bites.

The allure of the wild is still strong, but I’ll happily avoid that level of pain ever again, if I can.